


The First Noel

by clgfanfic



Series: Sentinel Slash - The Journal [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What to get Blair for Christmas?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Noel

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Mating Rituals #5 under the pen name Duval.

**December 21 st**

 

A cup of steaming tea in hand, Jim sat down on the sofa and sighed heavily.  Christmas was only a few days off and he still hadn't finished shopping for Sandburg.  But what did you get the man who has everything?  Or who, at least, had so much _stuff_ that he didn't know what to add to the collection?

Jim snorted softly and shook his head.  No, that wasn't really fair.  Sandburg really didn’t own _that_ much… just books, a lot of books.  But Blair had already moved more than half of them to his office at the university, and more would be following just as soon as they had the time to haul them over, and a break in the weather.  It amazed Jim how one man could have read that many books.  No wonder the kid was so damned smart.

And CDs – he had a lot of those, too.  But Jim enjoyed most of them just as much as the graduate student did, so they'd gone out and picked up a couple of stylish four-foot towers to house them in the living room.

What else?  Clothes, of course, enough to fill but not crowd the closet in the man's room.  Oh, and a few boxes of odds and ends that he'd carted around with him since he was a kid.  His "treasures," as Sandburg called them.

Ah, he'd almost forgotten.  There were also the stacks and stacks and _stacks_ of photocopied articles, but those had already disappeared, moved to the university a little at a time over the last couple of months.  There was no way anyone, even Blair, could have read all of those.  One of the perks of becoming part of a major grant the department had received to do some local anthropological work – space.  Blair Sandburg finally had a "real" office, complete with his own desk (big), chair (not broken), computer (new), printer (also new), bookshelves (three, huge) and two filing cabinets.

And Sandburg immediately decided to fill the space with his books, articles, and assorted artifacts, which in turn had reduced the clutter in his room considerably.

Jim paused, shaking his head.  How long had it taken him to get Sandburg to keep his stuff in his room, instead of scattering it all over the loft?  Too long.

He took a sip of tea.  _Some of the CDs are gone, too_.

Jim frowned, staring at the two matching towers.  From the looks of it, about a third of the titles were missing.  Maybe Blair had taken those to Rainier as well.  He seemed to enjoy having music on when he worked, and he had that boom box at the university…

But none of this was helping him figure out what to get Sandburg for Christmas, and he had to come up with something – fast.  He didn't want to be stuck trying to find a last minute gift in the mall on Christmas Eve.  Talk about sensory overload… it was too frightening to even contemplate.

 _So, what can I get him?_ Jim asked himself.

He was sure that there must be any number of other books Blair wanted for his research, or for pleasure, but there was no way for Jim to find out what the titles were without Sandburg knowing why he was asking.  And he couldn't cop out and pick up a gift certificate.  That was too impersonal.  He'd already picked out a sweater and a flannel shirt that were casual, something Blair's mother, or even Simon might have gotten for him.

 _We're way past the impersonal gift stage.  Guess that's what happens when someone moves in with you for a couple of years.  Hell, it's kind of like we're married_ , he mused.

          One thing was for sure, Blair Sandburg knew him as well as anyone ever had, and far, far better than most.  Over the past – what was it now?  Almost three years? – Jim had come to depend on the younger man, and not just for dealing with his Sentinel abilities.  Sandburg was a good friend, someone he could bounce ideas off of, someone who listened to him, someone who cared about him.

He paused, a contented warmth spreading through his chest.  He'd never really appreciated just how important it could be to have someone in your life who simply, honestly cared about you… loved you… like family.

          So, no more impersonal gifts for this Christmas; he wanted Blair to know how much he appreciated his support, and his friendship.

That was why he'd picked up those specialty teas he'd found on a trip to Seattle for departmental business, but even that didn't seem like enough.  So he'd added the pen and pencil set last week, both hand-carved by local artists in South America, the wood a mix of rich, dark earthy colors.  Jim knew Blair would enjoy those, but it was something he saw as related to his Guide's work at the university, not a purely personal gift, and that was what he wanted to find now.

But why?  Why did he need a gift that said, "I care about you"?  Why didn't he feel exactly… _right_ about this particular holiday?

He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander like Sandburg had taught him, trying to uncover what was haunting along the edges of his consciousness, just out of reach.  But if he could just reach out… carefully–

He nodded to himself.  Yeah, that was it.  It had started sometime before Thanksgiving.  Sandburg had begun acting a little different, more… distant.  Not that anyone else had seemed to notice, but Jim had.

When he'd asked Sandburg what was wrong, early in December, Blair had replied that he was just a little stressed out with the end of the semester coming up.

Okay, that had made sense to Jim.  He knew what that meant now – Blair had papers of his own to get finished, work on his dissertation to complete, students to grade, and a class for the following semester to plan and prepare for.  That, in addition to his work with Jim, would be more than enough to stress anybody out.

But it hadn't gotten any better once the semester actually ended around the middle of the month.  So there was something else going on, but he had no idea what it could be, and Sandburg wasn't ready to talk about it – if Blair even knew anything was wrong.  Sometimes it took the kid a while to work his issues out in his head, but once he did, he usually wanted to talk to Jim about them.

He'd never been someone else's confidant before, just kept his own counsel.  It made him feel good that Blair could come to him, that he trusted him that much.  He wasn't sure he could say that anyone had ever trusted him that much.

But Jim didn't like the recent change in their relationship.  He missed the close rapport they usually shared.  Something had gotten in the way, something done or said to make Sandburg back off.  And it was a damned good bet that Jim had been the one to do or say something that had caused the change.  He wasn't the most tactful guy, and he could be cold and dense sometimes.  But usually Sandburg would let him know when something like that happened.

So, he needed to get Blair something special for Christmas, something that would let the younger man know just how much Jim appreciated him.  After all, he rarely said so, and maybe this time Blair needed to "hear" it, even if it was in the offering and not in words.

Words just didn't come easily to Jim, if at all sometimes.  But Sandburg seemed to have figured that out, and accepted it.  At least it was getting a little easier to express his feelings; living with Blair had made that possible.  He was just so damned… open, unselfconscious.  It was rubbing off on the Sentinel.

He took another sip of the cooling tea and stared out at the thickly falling snow.  The storm was turning into a full blown blizzard, but he didn’t care.  He was on vacation, and they needed the precipitation badly after a dry summer and fall.  But if it continued to snow like it was now the roads were going to get dangerous…

He glanced at the clock – a little after three.  _Shouldn't Blair be home by now?_

Sandburg had driven into the university that morning to finish getting ready for the class he'd start teaching in January.  He'd explained over breakfast that he wanted to get the last few loose ends tied up so he could enjoy the holidays guilt-free.  And, since they both had the next two weeks off, this was the best time to get caught up so he could take advantage of the vacation time.

That had made perfect sense to Jim, too, so he'd spent the majority of the day at home, alone, digging out some of the old Christmas decorations that he and Carolyn had picked up over the years of their marriage.  He hadn't put anything up in years, but with Christmas music playing on the stereo, he'd set out some stuff, strung some garland and lights, and even driven over to the local supermarket lot to pick up a tree, which now sat in a corner of the living room, waiting for Sandburg's return to be decorated.

Hearing the weather report on the radio while he was out, Jim also picked up some extra groceries, and then swung by the Hallmark shop next door to the Safeway in the strip mall to pick up a small brass menorah and some candles, one of Blair's comments echoing in his ears as he did so: "Yeah, I'm Jewish, but when it comes to spirituality I guess you'd have to say that I'm, uh, eclectic.  This one sociologist I read calls it 'salad bar spirituality' – you know, a little of this, a little of that…"

He wasn't sure if Sandburg would appreciate the gesture, but he was glad he'd found the Hanukkah candelabrum.  It just seemed appropriate to have it included in their celebration.

And this really was their first Christmas.  The ones in the past they had been working, busy.  And for the first one Blair was sick.  So he really wanted this one to be special, for both of them.

He checked the clock again.  Sandburg had been gone almost six hours.  Surely it couldn't take _that_ long to find and photocopy a few articles, which was all Blair said he had left to do.

 _Maybe he found some obscure reference on Sentinels, or who knows what else,_ he told himself. _Or maybe he met someone for lunch_.

_Or maybe he ran into an old girlfriend and–_

He stopped the thought.  It was none of his business what Sandburg did.  It wasn't like they'd agreed to meet at a particular time.  They hadn't even talked about if they were going to have supper together tonight, so the kid could stay out as long as he wanted, do whatever he wanted.

But that didn't help quell the soft buzz of worry that had started in Ellison's gut.  _Okay_ , he decided.  _I'll give Sandburg another half-hour, then I'll try calling him on the cell_.

If nothing else, he rationalized, he needed to know if Sandburg was planning to come home or not.  If he wasn't, he'd go ahead and put the lights on the tree, then wait for the next day to add the assorted ornaments he'd set aside earlier, with Sandburg's help.

He sighed heavily.  Okay, so, he was right back where he'd started: wondering what else he could get Sandburg for Christmas, and nothing was popping to mind.

He finished his cold tea and leaned forward, setting the empty cup on one of the coasters lying on the coffee table.  As he did, his gaze swept over a leather-bound book lying there as well.  He'd seen Blair writing in it the night before.  It was a pretty common occurrence actually, but Sandburg had always remembered to take the book back to his room when he was done.  One of the few things he'd been consistent about since he'd moved in.  Jim had always guessed that the grad student was making notes about him.

 _Guess he's a little more stressed out than I thought_ , Jim decided.  _Maybe we should take off for a couple of days after Christmas.  Head up into the mountains and do some skiing, or just hang at the lodge and enjoy the scenery_.

Reaching out, he picked up the book.  It was nice, probably 9x12 inches, and with a soft, black leather cover.  He opened it in the middle, finding lined pages filled with Sandburg's neat script.  Maybe he could find something like this for that last present, have the kid's name put on it… without really realizing it, he began reading.

 

…really sure when it started.  All I know is: it's starting to drive me crazy.  It's not so bad when I'm at school, or working with Jim at the station, or even when we're out on a case, but when we're together at the loft, that's a whole other situation.  I've been getting by, hiding out in my room a lot, working on those articles and the dissertation chapters, but that's only going to work for so long.  Especially since he knows I'm done for the semester.

I just wish I had a clue about how Jim would react.  If I knew that, maybe it would help, but there's nothing there for me to gauge.  I'm half-afraid he'll be so pissed off that he'll throw me out, but another part of my mind tells me that he'd be more likely to just laugh and blow it off, and to be honest, I'm not sure which would be worse…

 

Jim stopped, utterly confused.  What in the world was Blair talking about?

Yeah, it was true that he'd noticed that the grad student had been spending a lot of time working in his room over the last month or so, but Sandburg had said he had a couple of articles to finish – essays that he planned to submit to academic journals, and one that he was sending to some scholarly conference in Oregon.  And then there was that class he was getting ready to teach.  But the semester was over, the deadlines he'd mentioned had passed, and today he was supposed to finish off the class preparation, so was there another reason he'd been holed up so much in his room.

 _I shouldn't do this_ , Jim told himself.  If this was Blair's journal, his diary, and it sure looked like it was, then he had no business reading it.  But he wanted to know what was going on, and Sandburg had left it lying in plain sight.

 _Not good enough, Ellison_ , he told himself.  _This is private_.

 _But why hasn't Blair said something if there's a problem?_ he wondered.  It wasn't like Sandburg to keep his feelings under wraps.  Typically, if something was bothering Blair, everyone knew about it.

Detective Ellison took over and he decided that he needed to know what was going on.  He turned to the previous page and skimmed, looking for a clue.

 

…dreams.  They're getting more and more intense.  Man, if Freud was still alive, he'd be having a field day with this!

I've had these dreams ever since I met him at the hospital, but they're getting more frequent and more realistic.  I'm really not sure what to do about them.  I'm not sure I want to do anything about them, but I have to.

Sooner or later Jim's going to pick up on some of the side-effects…

 

Frustrated, and more than an little concerned, Jim flipped back to the beginning of the journal, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.  At the top of the page was a date – November 17th.  He skimmed the first few pages, which were all about him and his Sentinel abilities – one of the latest tests he'd come up with, the results, Jim's reactions to the tests, and a few ideas on how to follow up with still more tests.  The man was a test-making machine.  An occupational hazard of the academic, he decided.

Jim leaned forward, resting the book on his lap and continued to skim the contents for several more pages – Blair's meeting with his dissertation committee chair, a problem student in the class he'd just finished teaching, pages and pages on his opinion of something called "post-feminist theory", more on Jim and his abilities, the results of a guided meditation he did with someone only referred to as "CP", and then…

 

November 23rd.  I had another dream last night.  Man, what I wouldn't give if these were real, but I'm not going down that road.  Way too dangerous.

I think this one in particular is becoming my subconscious fantasy of choice.  I haven't written down the details yet, so I guess I better do it now while it's still fresh in my mind.  This one is so vivid, more than most of the other ones.  Not sure why that is, but if the dreams were all like this one, I'd be well and truly fucked.  Literally.

Okay, here goes.

I get home, from school, I guess.  I've got my backpack with me and I walk in and set it on the kitchen counter.  I take off my jacket and hang it up, then take the backpack and start for my room.

That's when I hear it.

That sound.  (Just thinking about it while I write this entry makes me hard!)

Anyway, I drop my backpack in my room and walk out into the loft.  I glance around and it looks like there's nobody there, but then I hear it again – that same low, soft moan.

It's coming from the living room, so I walk over, half-scared, half-excited by the sound.  (I think a part of me knew what I was going to find, but I just couldn't bring myself to believe it.)

He's lying on the sofa, completely naked.  His eyes are closed and he's slowly pulling on his cock.  My gaze locks on his hand as it moves – up and down, up and down, up and down.  It's like all I can see is his cock – big, long, the veins standing out, the head leaking.

And then he's shooting, jizm flying onto his chest in long, stringy strands.  And he calls my name, moans it – my name – while he keeps coming and coming and coming, his hips are bucking up, his hand jerking like mad.

I'm frozen right there where I'm standing, watching him.  I know I have to get the hell out of there, that he's going to open his

eyes and see me, but I can't move.  He keeps saying my name over and over and over.  I can't breathe.  I can't move.  I can't do anything but stand there and watch and listen.

Then his eyes open and he's looking up at me.  Now I really can't breathe.  I want to run, but I still can't move.  It's like his gaze has frozen me to the spot.

Then he smiles up at me and I know I'm lost.  Completely lost.  All I want is to strip and join him…

 

Jim stopped.  He blinked, his mind suddenly numb.  Then, slowly, thoughts began to form again, but he held them off, keeping them distant until he could decide what he thought about what he'd read.

 _Okay, just think this through.  Like a case_ , he instructed himself.

Fact: Blair was dreaming about watching some guy jacking off.  Fact: He liked watching.  Really liked it.  Fact: He wanted to have sex with this guy.

He shook his head, confusion and a touch of anger rising to the fore.  Since when was the kid interested in men?  He was like a damned dog on a table leg when it came to women.  There was no way he could be interested in a man.

Right?

 _Unless it's an act_ , he thought.  _Or some of it's an act_.

 _And what if it is?_ he questioned himself.

Sandburg had certainly dated plenty of women since they'd met, but he'd only been really serious about a couple of them.  At least Jim had thought he was serious.  So if he wasn't, if he was using that as a smoke screen–

 _No_ , Jim thought, _Sandburg isn't someone who uses deception_.

He glanced down at the journal, debating whether or not he should keep reading.  He knew it was wrong, but he was curious, and concerned.  The dream was obviously bugging Sandburg.  Maybe if he knew what was going on he could find a way to help.

 _Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Ellison_ , he chided himself, but he kept skimming, finding more comments on his Sentinel abilities, along with some astute observations on Jim's feelings and reactions concerning a case they had wrapped up just before his holiday vacation started.  Sandburg _definitely_ knew him better than anyone ever had, and it was both humbling and disconcerting at the same time.

          In the written words Jim could also see the younger man's affection for him, his worry, and, surprisingly, a protective streak that Ellison had never guessed was there.  He grinned, imagining the scene Blair described in the journal.  He'd be willing to bet money that Hank Terria never questioned Sandburg's loyalty again after the grad student chewed the detective's ass for not responding in a timely manner to a back-up call.  Too funny.

          He shook his head and leafed through a couple more pages before he found the next entry to apprehend his attention.

 

          December 10th.  Oh, man, I had that dream again last night and this time I woke up shooting a load into the sheets.  It was so embarrassing.  I haven't done that since I was sixteen!  I got up and turned on the white noise generator I keep in my room (usually for

when I have to stay up late working and I don’t want to bother Jim) and changed the sheets.  I took them out and put them in the car, then stopped by the laundry across from the university so I could wash and dry them before my office hours.

          The last thing I need is for Jim to get a whiff of that.  I just know I'd never hear the end of it.  And I'd really hate for that to get around the department.  Not that I think Jim would say something, but he might make a crack and Simon, or Rafe, or Brown might pick up on it.  I'm probably just feeling paranoid.  I know I am, but I can't seem to help it.

          Anyway, that white noise generator is a real life saver in more ways than one.  I wasn't sure I'd be able to use it to keep Jim from hearing me jerking off in my room, but it seems to be working fine.  At least I haven't seen anything that would suggest that he knows I've been in there every night for a week, wacking myself.  But at least when I'm awake I can get rid of the evidence a little easier and I don't end up with wet sheets.

And thank god I found that natural incense, too.  I burn that before I get started, and that seems to mask the odor of my arousal, but to be honest, I don’t think I can keep this up much longer.  Sooner or later Jim's going to catch me.

          What the hell am I going to do?  This dream's got me so hot I get hard every time I think about it, and I think about it a lot!

I just don't know what to do.

          No, that's not true, I do know what to do.  I need to talk to him.  I need to tell him how I feel.  Maybe that way I could get a handle on this.  Right now I've got about as much control as a pubescent teenager.

 

          Jim snorted.  There were times he thought Blair was little more than a teenager, but it was just his level of energy, his enthusiasm, that was child-like.  In every other way he was a definitely a man.

          He sat back and considered the entry.  He hadn't noticed Sandburg using the white noise generator, but then he'd been pretty preoccupied the last two weeks, trying to get all of his cases caught up or finished before his vacation started.  He'd been dead tired at night after the extra long days at the office, falling asleep quickly and sleeping straight through until the alarm woke him the following morning.  And Blair was usually up when he went to bed, working on all those papers and grading.

          Okay, so he did remember the kid turning on the generator a couple of times when he headed up the stairs to bed.  But Jim kept one in his room as well, and usually turned it on just before he went to sleep – to cut out the extraneous sounds of the city.  Right after he checked to make sure Blair was downstairs, safe and working.

          And he'd noticed the incense, but Sandburg often used that and one  of his instrumental CDs when he was working on his papers, so he'd just assumed that was what the smells were all about.  What did Blair call it – his mind routine: music, incense and yellow light to "focus his concentration" and "free his creativity."  New age ooga-booga, as far as Jim was concerned, but the kid managed to get straight-A's so he couldn't really argue.

But he still thought it was odd that he'd missed the smell of arousal, and the sounds of Sandburg beating off – the racing heartbeat, the short, rapid breaths, the soft moans and grunts.  But it was possible.  After all, Sandburg knew all the tricks for getting past Jim's senses.  But it was still hard to believe.

He shook his head.  Maybe he'd been more preoccupied with his caseload than he'd thought.  He obviously needed the vacation time more than he'd thought if all this had been happening right under his nose for the last few weeks and he'd missed every clue.

But had he actually missed it?

 _No_ , he decided.  _I knew something was different.  Wrong.  But I wasn't checking it out_.  In fact, he'd purposefully been giving Sandburg some space, hoping that the grad student would be able to get caught up as well.

Besides, Blair had looked a little haggard.  And no wonder, given all the stuff he had to do, and the fact that he was being haunted by some dream that had him hard all the time.

But who the hell was he dreaming about?  Somebody from the university?  From the station?

And who did Sandburg need to tell about it?  The man of his dreams, or Jim, who he was afraid would find out?

Well, there was only one way to find out – short of asking.

He opened the journal and kept reading, but there were only a few, short mentions – "Dreamed the dream again"… "The dream came twice last night, and so did I"… "Woke from the dream and jerked off three times before I could get back to sleep"… "This dream is going to drive me crazy!" – mixed in with other comments on a variety of things, including a line here or there about going Christmas shopping for Jim.

Ellison grinned.  Well, it looked like Blair had gotten him a total of five gifts, so he did need to get the man one more to even things up.

There was a part of the detective that was disappointed that Sandburg hadn't noted _what_ he'd gotten him, but another part was glad that he hadn't spoiled his own Christmas morning surprise.

 _Now who's acting like a kid?_ Jim questioned himself.  _Next I'll be sneaking into his room to see if I can find my presents!_

He turned the page and started reading again…

 

December 17th.  You know, at least this damned dream has taught me something: I don’t really care what anyone thinks about me.  Well, anyone except Jim.  I really don't want him to hate me, or look at me like I'm something he just stepped in by mistake.  He's my best friend.  Hell, he's more than a friend, he's

 

The entry just stopped, Blair obviously at a loss for the right word.  Jim felt his throat tighten a little.  They _were_ more than friends.  He'd realized that a while ago – when he caught himself checking for the sound of Sandburg's heartbeat as he closed his eyes to go to sleep.  The younger man was a friend, a coworker (even if he wasn't a real cop), a confidant, a teacher, an ear to talk to.

He was his Guide, with all that that entailed.

It was a special relationship that they shared, and if he ever tried to explain it to someone he was sure it would come off sounding a lot less important, and close, than it actually was.  So he could appreciate Blair's problem.  But how could Sandburg ever think that he could hate him?

Okay, so there were plenty of people out there who might think that a guy having erotic dreams about another guy was sick, or dirty, or whatever, but he didn't.  And he couldn't remember anything he'd ever done or said in the past that would give Sandburg a reason to think that he was homophobic.

But Sandburg _wasn't_ gay.  Well, okay, so he was just obsessed with some guy, but he'd been obsessed with a couple of women in the time Jim had known him, too.  So he wasn't _gay_.  Bi, maybe, although it was hard for the detective to put a label on Blair.  Blair was Blair.  He was… just Blair.

And, when he really stopped and thought about it, it wasn't all that surprising that Sandburg might find a man as interesting sexually as he did a woman.  The man was pure curiosity on two feet.  And he knew how to enjoy himself, and life.  So why not be curious about what it might be like to sleep with someone who turned you on, even if that someone was the same sex?  Hell, he'd be damned surprised if Sandburg _hadn't_ explored that possibility before now.

 _And there's not a damned thing wrong with that_ , Jim thought, somewhat surprised by his conviction.

But there was something about this obsession that Sandburg thought would turn Jim off, or make him mad, or whatever.  _Something more than it's a man_ , he thought.  There had to be another reason Blair didn't think he'd approve of the relationship.

 _Someone at work?_ he wondered, then considered the possibilities.  He couldn't come up with anyone.

 _Someone who's considerably older, or younger?_   No, nothing there either.

He shook his head.  _Well, whoever it was, he damned well better not hurt Sandburg when he finally gets around to telling him about his attraction_ , Jim decided.  _Blair deserves some happiness, and whoever it is, he's just damned lucky to have won the kid's affection_.

But who was it?  He opened the journal again, then stopped.

 _This isn't right_ , he scolded himself.  _If Sandburg wanted to tell me, he would've told me_.

But he _really_ wanted to know who it was.  _And_ , he justified to himself, _if this guy's going to be in Sandburg's life, I need to know.  He might end up finding out about my Sentinel abilities_.

 _That's thin, Ellison, really thin_ , he chided himself.  But it was enough and he opened the journal again, skimming the remaining few entries, stopping at the last one to really read.

 

December 20th.  Everything's done.  My grades are in, the class is ready to go in January, my next chapter is with my chair, two papers are out to journals, and the conference paper's submitted.  I don’t have a damned thing left to do and tomorrow is the start of our two week vacation.  What the hell am I going to do?  I've run out of time and ideas.  I'm not

 

Reaching the bottom of the page, Jim scowled.  What did Sandburg mean, "everything's done"?  If everything was done, why did Blair tell him he had to go to the university to finish off stuff for that January class today?

Maybe he just forgot that he needed to do something more?

No.  Jim clearly remembered Sandburg telling him over dinner last night that he had to go to Rainier the next day to finish off stuff for his class.  And he'd seen him writing in the journal _after_ that.

So he'd lied.  Why?

Turning the page, Jim continued reading, finding himself back where he'd started.

 

…really sure when it started.  All I know is: it's starting to drive me crazy.  It's not so bad when I'm at school, or working with Jim at the station, or even when we're out on a case, but when we're together at the loft, that's a whole other situation.  I've been getting by, hiding out in my room a lot, working on those articles and the dissertation chapter, but that's only going to work for so long.  Especially since he knows I'm done.

I just wish I had a clue about how Jim would react.  If I knew that, maybe it would help, but there's nothing there for me to gauge.  I'm half-afraid he'll be so pissed off that he'll throw me out, but another part of my mind tells me that he'd be more likely to just laugh and blow it off, and to be honest, I'm not sure which would be worse…

 

Jim reached out to turn the page, but hesitated.  For some reason he was almost afraid to keep reading now, all his curiosity suddenly vanished.  It was only stubborn pride that allowed him to flip the page over and keep going.

 

…facing a pissed off Jim Ellison, or being brushed off like I was some kid who didn't know up from down.  Not that he treats me like a kid.  Well, not often.

Oh hell, who am I trying to kid?  What I'm really afraid of is that he'll think the whole damn thing's funny.

And I'm afraid that he'll think I'm a fag, or a queer, or a fairy, or whatever else he can come up with to call it.  And if he does say anything like that I swear I might just deck him where he stands.

Oh yeah, right, like that'll ever happen!  Me, deck Jim?  Not in this life.

I guess there's no way around this one.  I'm just going to have to find a way over the next few days to sit him down and say: Jim, I love you.

And when he gives me that "yeah, that's nice" look, I'll have to add: You see, Jim, I've been having these dreams about you, erotic dreams, and I want us to make love.

And that's where he laughs in my face, and asks me what the joke is.

Shit, shit, shit!  This wasn't supposed to happen!  I'm not supposed to fall in love with Jim Ellison.  Man, why haven't they invented a pill to cure stupidity?

And I lied to Jim at dinner.  I told him I had to go finish the class off today because I knew if I stayed home with him all day I'd have to sneak into the bathroom and jack off every time I saw him sitting on the sofa, because when I do, all I can think about is that damned dream.  I've heard about wishing for the moon, but I might as well be wishing for the moon and the stars!  There is no way Jim would ever be interested in me like that.  He's a straight arrow, and that's fine.  But I can't seem to make my libido understand that.

I just don’t see how I'm going to survive two weeks with him.  I really don't.  I've tried everything I can think of to get this under control and it's only getting worse.

I don't know what I'm going to do.  I have to tell him, but I'm scared it'll mean the end of our friendship, and I don’t want that.  It means way too much to me to throw it away because I can't stop a wet dream.

I just want to keep things the way they are, but my heart and my dick have other ideas, and right now they're winning.  I've got to find a way for my head to get back in control before I can't stand to be around him at all.

 

Jim reached the last word of the last entry and closed the journal.  He stared down at the cover, his fingers moving lightly over the soft surface while he waited for a reaction of some kind.  When none surfaced, he set the journal back on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch and took a deep breath, trying to relax like Sandburg had taught him.

 _Okay_ , he thought when he felt the initial tension melt out of his shoulders, _am I mad?_  No, not really.

 _Shocked?_  Yeah, a little.

_How would I have reacted if Sandburg had told me that?_

Jim closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths, willing himself to relax and go with the flow as he tried to wrap his mind around the situation.

He could image Blair sitting on the sofa, saying the same words he had just read.  And what was he doing?  Working on the tree, stringing Christmas tree lights, that way he wouldn't also be sitting on the sofa, reminding him about the dream, making it harder.

Okay, so he was at the tree, and Blair was on the couch, telling him the secret he'd been hiding, and… what would he do?

Jim saw himself smile and shake his head, then look at Blair over his shoulder, his expression amused.

He sucked in a breath and opened his eyes.  _Shit_.  He wouldn't have believed it, or at least he wouldn’t have taken it seriously.  He would have thought Sandburg was setting him up for some kind of a joke.

 _Damn, the kid was right_ , he thought.  But why?  Why wouldn't he take it seriously, because it obviously was.

Blair Sandburg loved him, and _not_ the way good friends loved each other.

 _Come on_ , he snapped at himself, _how do I feel about that?_

 _Scared… awed… curious… proud, no, smug… nervous… a little weird_ , were his answers.

_Okay, that's something, a start._

Scared made sense.  After all, it sounded from the journal like this could create a problem for them working together, and Jim knew he relied on Sandburg for far too much in his life to let the man slip away that easily, which explained the nervousness.  He had to find a way to help Blair through this.  He couldn't let it come between them.

And it did awe him.  Sandburg was an incredible human being, even if Jim would never say so aloud, especially to Blair.  And to know that someone like Blair could love him, with all his faults and foibles, well, it was humbling, and he was in awe of the man's ability to express his feelings, and to fall in love with someone as prickly as Jim saw himself.

Smug?  Well, yeah, his own ego was definitely stroked by the idea.  It felt good to know that he was loved, and desired.

But it _was_ a little weird, knowing that it was another _man_ who was in love with him – another man who was dreaming about them being together, sexually.

 _How would that even work?_ he wondered, not that he couldn't imagine several possibilities, but it was the whole process – mechanics and emotions – that eluded him.

Or did it?  He was curious.  _Am I really curious?  How am I curious?_ he interrogated himself.

He swallowed hard, then squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to imagine what the dream Sandburg described would look like, what it might feel like.  He had just managed to create the picture when the door burst opened.

Jim lunged off the sofa and spun around, feeling guilty at having been caught with the thoughts dancing inside his mind.  Sandburg stomped in, snow flying in all directions and wetting the floor.

Curiosity vanished, along with the guilt.  "Sandburg!" Jim bellowed.  "Why don't you do that outside?"

"It's _cold_ out there, man," Blair replied, looking totally unrepentant.  There was still some snow clinging to his hair and dusting the shoulders of his jacket, but it was already melting in the heated air of the loft.  The water beads caught in Sandburg's long hair, creating a cascade of mini rainbows that framed his face.

The face of the man who was in love with him, Jim noted.

Ellison swallowed hard and smiled, hoping that he looked more relaxed, and more annoyed, than he really felt.  "It's about time you got back."

Blair looked up and blinked, momentarily at a loss for words.  Then he grinned and shrugged.  "Guess I lost track of the time.  Man, the roads are a mess!" he added, deftly changing the subject.  "And I heard on the radio that they've issued a winter storm watch for the city.  They're calling for another eight to twelve inches of snow overnight."

"Yeah, I heard that, too," Jim said, walking over to the kitchen.  He used several paper towels to wipe up the majority of water off the floor.  "You want some hot tea?"

"Yeah, thanks," Blair replied, tip-toeing toward his room in order to minimize the dripping.  "But I'm going to go get dried off and change first."

Jim watched him disappear into his room, shutting the door behind him.  He turned on the stove eye and set the teapot on it, then filled the

container with enough filtered water for two cups.  That done, he focused his attention on Sandburg's room, listening as the younger man dried his hair ff, then pulled off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair at his desk.  Shoes were next, then pants and shirt.  A drawer opened and Blair pulled out dry clothes and dressed.  The last was a soft _shush_ , then another, as he pulled on the warm leather and fleece slippers Jim had picked up for his birthday last year.

He heard the man take a long, deep breath, hold it, then let it out as a sigh.  "Okay, you _can_ do this," Sandburg told himself softly.

 _Do what?_ Jim silently asked the absent man.  _Tell me?  Just be in the same space as me?  What?_

A moment later Sandburg stepped back out into the loft and looked around, noticing the decorations for the first time.  "Hey, man, the place looks great!  Where'd you get all this stuff?  And a tree?"

Jim grinned.  "I dug out the stuff Carolyn and I had collected over the years.  Figured it was time some of it saw the light of day again.  I mean, what's the point when I'm working?  I come home and go to bed, get up and leave, but with a couple of weeks off…"  He trailed off, realizing he was babbling.

 _Get a grip, Ellison_ , he told himself.  _Just take it slow and easy, see what develops_.

Sandburg nodded, smiling.  "I like it.  But I hope you plan on doing something more with that tree."

"Of course," Jim replied gruffly as he flashed the man a scowl.  "The lights and stuff are sitting over there.  I just thought I'd wait for you to get back.  So you can help."

The smile widened.  "Really?  That's great, man.  Want to do it now?"

"Sure, why not," Jim said, noting the excited sparkle in the man's eyes.  There _were_ still times he acted like a kid, _just_ like a kid.  "Soon as the tea's ready."

"Hey, I'll put some Christmas music on," Blair offered.  "A friend of mine sent me a CD of this folk group, Golden Bough."

"Fine," Jim said.

Blair ducked back into his room, but returned quickly with the CD and several envelopes in hand.  "I picked up the mail on my way up," he said, handing Jim the envelopes.

Ellison scanned them quickly – two bills, a Christmas card from Stephen and the usual junk mail.  He tossed them into the wicker mail basket sitting on the kitchen counter to deal with later.

Jim waited for the kettle to whistle, watching as Blair walked over to the stereo.  He saw the man glance at the sofa as he passed and heard the slight hitch in the man's breath, followed swiftly by the faint odor of arousal.

"Not now," Blair growled softly to himself.

Ellison felt his cheeks redden, and turned back to the stove, shutting off the flame when the water began to boil.  He picked two of the "holiday blend" herbal tea bags Sandburg had brought home last week, dropping one each into two mugs, then filled them with the hot water.  He added a little sugar to his own and stirred it, then carried both mugs out to the living room where Blair was already in the process of opening the ornament boxes.

"Have to put the lights on first, Chief," Jim said, setting the mugs down on coasters on the coffee table.  His gaze lingered on the journal for a moment.

Sandburg saw the look and quickly grabbed the leather-bound book.  "Sorry," he apologized.  "Guess I was so tired last night I forgot to put this back in my room.

Jim shrugged.  "No big deal."

Sandburg's eyes rounded slightly.  "Oh yeah, since when, man?"

Shaking his head, Jim said, "I'm not _that_ bad."

"Says you," Blair muttered, then took the book back to his room, sliding it onto his desk, then returned to help Jim untangle the tree lights.

The music played softly as they worked in comfortable silence.  That task done, they plugged in each of the individual strands to see if all the lights were working.  After replacing a few burned out bulbs, they connected the strands together, then carefully wound them onto the tree.

Once the lights were on, they took a break to admire their handiwork.

"That looks nice.  Really nice," Blair said, his voice a little thicker than usual.

Jim pretended not to hear the emotion as he nodded and replied, "Yeah, it does.  Okay, now for the rest of it."

"Hey," Blair said, clearing his throat.  "Why don’t I call and see if Stan's is delivering?"

Jim nodded.  "Sounds good.  But I stopped at the store and picked up some extra groceries, just in case this really turns into a blizzard."

"Good idea," Sandburg replied, heading for the phone.  "If they're not, I'll whip something up."

The neighborhood pizza parlor had a reputation for making deliveries regardless of the weather, and this was no exception.  They had their supper in less than an hour, and it was still hot.  Jim gave the teen who knocked on the door a good-sized tip for his efforts.

They spent the rest of the evening eating pizza, drinking a couple of beers, and finishing the tree.

"Hey, Jim, you're getting too much tinsel on your side," Blair said as he continued to work, hanging each of the thin strips of silver individually.

"Am not."

"Yes, you are.  You can't just toss handfuls on like that and expect it to look balanced and natural."

"Natural?" Jim asked.  "It's super thin tin foil, how can it look natural?"

Sandburg scowled at him.  "They're supposed to look like icicles."

The argument continued until they both ran out of tinsel.

Standing back a second time, this time to admire the finished product, Jim had to admit that Sandburg's half of the tree did look more balanced – if not more natural – but not by much.  But he wasn't going to tell Blair that.  No way.

"Looks good, Chief."

"My side, you mean?"

"The _whole_ thing."

Blair grinned, then yawned.  "Man, I'm wiped.  Think I'm gonna get to bed early tonight," he said.

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea," Jim agreed.  "You look a little tired."

Sandburg blushed, but he didn't reply.  Gathering up the empty beer bottles and tea mugs, he carried them into the kitchen.

"I'll take care of those," Jim called after him.

          Blair flashed him a grateful smile and slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower.

          Jim gathered the empty ornament boxes and put them back into the large cardboard box they'd come out of, storing that in the closet.  Then he rinsed the dishes off and put them in the dishwasher, the beer bottles going into the recycling bin, but his attention was on the man now in the shower.  He sniffed, enjoying the clean scent of the herbal soap Blair had found in what Jim called a "hippy shop," then he cocked his head to the side.  There was something else there, too… arousal.

          He tuned his hearing past the sound of the water, listening to the rapid beat of Sandburg's heart, the soft glide of skin over skin, and the quiet grunt as he came.

          Jim licked his suddenly dry lips.

          "All right, I took care of you," he heard the man whisper. "Now, leave me alone and let me get some sleep, okay?"

          _Blair talks to his dick_ , Jim thought.  _Of course he does_.  He snorted softly and shook his head, feeling more than a little guilty for putting the man through this, but it wasn't exactly his fault.  He headed upstairs, pulling off his shoes and flannel shirt before Blair exited the bathroom and slipped quietly into his room.

          Jim descended the stairs on sock-clad feet and stepped into the bathroom, quickly completing his nightly routine.  Starting back to his bedroom, he paused, realizing that the tree lights were still on.  He veered off and unplugged them, then glanced out at the snow, noting that there must be at least a foot already stacked up on the patio wall, and it was still coming down – hard.

          He shook his head and turned, catching sight of Blair, dressed in his pajamas and robe, seated at his desk.  He was opening the journal.

In the dark, Jim leaned against the wall and continued to watch as Sandburg picked up a pen.  His Sentinel sight zoomed in on the man's hand and what he could see of the page, reading as Blair began to write.

 

          December 21st.  Sometimes Jim really surprises me, like he did today.  When I got home from the university and he'd decorated the loft for Christmas, even went out and picked out a tree.  It was really nice.

I guess part of it is that it made the place really feel like "home".  Not really having a place to call home while I was growing up, I appreciate it more now when it happens.  Of course just being with Jim makes it feel like I'm home, too, but this was extra special because he did it all on his own.  I'd like to think he did it for me, but I don't think so, although I think I had something to do with it.

We put the lights and decorations on the tree together.  He actually waited for me to get back to do that.  I just wanted to hug him when he said that, but I couldn't.

I wonder if he's ever struck by just how "domestic" we are sometimes.  I doubt it.

          I almost mentioned it, but I just didn’t want to spoil the moment.  It was one of the best evenings we've shared in a while.  He was so relaxed.  I guess knowing he's going to be on vacation for two weeks is what did the trick.  He needs the time off, too.

          But the evening was so darn perfect that it made my heart hurt.  I wanted to tell him how I feel, but every time I thought I'd found the right moment, I chickened out.  I know it's probably the coward's way out, but I've decided that I'm going to wait until after Christmas to tell him.

If he tosses me out, at least I'll have this to remember.

          I took care of business in the shower too, so I hope I can get some sleep tonight.  I need it.  Being in love is a lot more work than I expected.  I'm exhausted, and I still have four more days to go before it's confession time.

 

          Jim watched as Blair closed the journal, then turned off his light.  He walked to his bed, crawling in and pulling the covers up over his ear and around his chin.

          Ellison padded quietly to the stairs, then paused, turning back to stare through the open door of Sandburg's bedroom.  Was that a soft sob he'd just heard?  Why was Blair crying?

          _Because he's sure I'm gonna throw him out of here in a few days_ , Jim realized.

          _Well, that's not gonna happen_, he silently vowed.  He wasn't sure _what_ he was going to do, but he sure as hell wasn't going to throw Sandburg out just because the student was in love with him.  They'd deal with it, get past it… somehow.  They had to.  He needed Sandburg.  They were friends.

          _Maybe more?_ he asked himself.  _Definitely more…  But lovers?_   He shook his head, still finding that a foreign concept.

          Jim turned and climbed the stairs to his own room and crawled into bed, still listening.  Sandburg stirred after a few minutes, and Jim heard the white noise generator come on.

 _To cover his tears_ , the Sentinel knew.  _Damn_.

He wanted to go down and comfort the man, but how could he?  That would only make things worse.  So, what _was_ he going to do about this?  When no answers were forthcoming, Jim rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.  Maybe something would come to him in the morning; it damn well better.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**December 22 nd**

 

          It was a quiet day spent at home for both men.  The winter storm had been upgraded to a blizzard just after midnight, and with a record-setting sixteen inches and counting, it showed no signs of abating any time soon.  So they had fixed breakfast, watched some television, played a couple rounds of Sequence, and skipped lunch to escape into their rooms and wrap presents.  Those gifts were then covertly slipped under the Christmas tree over the course of the day – one at a time.  Still, Jim could sense the tension that thrummed through Sandburg's body, and noticed how Blair tried to keep some distance between them.

          Late in the afternoon Blair fled the loft to feed Kathy McNabb's three cats – the young woman being away visiting her mother for Christmas.  He was back in a little over an hour and seemed more relaxed.  Jim suspected it was because he'd jerked off in her bathroom, but he really hadn't wanted to know that for a fact, so he'd dialed down his hearing and forced himself to finish reading the newspaper while Sandburg was gone.  After all, the man deserved a little privacy.

          As dinnertime approached they were both reading, holiday music playing softly on the stereo.  It was a comfortable silence at last, and Jim wished that there was something he could say that might help set Blair's mind at ease, but he couldn't figure out a way to bring up the subject without it quickly becoming obvious that he'd read the man's journal, and somehow he just didn't think Sandburg would appreciate that very much.

          Jim glanced at the clock.  He was getting hungry.  Then, remembering the frozen vegetarian dish that was still in the freezer he said, "Think I'll start dinner.  Lasagna sound good?"

          Blair looked up, his expression a little startled.  "Uh, yeah, sounds great.  But I can do it."

          He shook his head.  "You just take a load off, Chief.  You deserve the rest after the last few weeks."

          Blair nodded, but quickly looked back at his book – too quickly.  Jim zeroed in on the man's eyes, seeing them fill slightly.  He sighed silently.  That was _not_ what he'd planned.  All he wanted to do was be nice.  He could be nice, after all, when he wanted to.  And he did want to.  But it didn't seem to be working very well.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          An hour later they sat down to eat, passing small-talk back and forth as they tried to agree on when they should drive up to get in some skiing – they decided on the second day after the blizzard ended, if that was in time.

When they fell into silence again, Blair looked up and said, "Uh, Jim, you usually don't want this.  What's your usual line?  Oh, yeah, 'If it doesn't have meat, what's the point?'"

          Jim scowled at him.  "You know, half that's just me giving you a hard time.  This is good.  But that's not to say that I don't like it with meat – better."

          Sandburg grinned and said, "Okay," but it was the look in the man's eyes that caught Ellison's attention – it was deeply affectionate, and it made the detective blush a little.  He dipped his head and said, "Guess we better get this cleaned up."

Then it was into the kitchen to wash the dishes before they headed into the living room with mugs of hot tea to watch some of the Christmas specials being shown on television.

          They called it another early night, both men heading off to their beds after the news at ten.  As he had the night before, Jim returned downstairs to turn off the tree lights, pausing to see if Blair would write another entry in his journal.  He did.

 

          December 22nd.  On a scale of one to ten, today was an eleven.  It was absolutely perfect.  Jim and I stayed home – the snow still falling.  (It's a blizzard now, and according to the weather report at 10, we have 22 inches already on the ground and they think we'll get at least another 3-6 inches tonight.  Amazing.)

But it was just so damn normal today.  We had breakfast, then watched some TV, did the kinds of things married people do.  At least that's the way it felt to me.  And neither of us were antsy.  I mean, it was just nice, comfortable.  It made me feel so… loved, I guess.  I really felt like I was "home."  And that's something of an oddity for me.  I've never really called anyplace "home", but this is as close as it's ever come.  Being here with Jim, living day to day, being together, caring about each other, that's what "home" is all about.

At least it is for me.  I'm not really sure how Jim would define "home".  I'll have to ask him sometime.  If I get the chance.

          So why isn't this enough?  It should be.  It's everything I've ever wanted for myself.  I wouldn't change a single thing about today for anything.  I wouldn't change anything about the life I live with Jim.  So why can't I let this sex thing go?  It's definitely not worth losing what I have right now.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**December 23 rd**

 

          Jim stood at one of the windows in the living room, looking out at the lightly falling snow while the news played on the TV.  At least the storm looked like it was finally letting up, although the weatherman was warning residents that another low would be dropping in over the course of the day, and that it might bring even more precipitation with it.  Jim guessed that they must have already gotten three feet of snow there at the loft, and the official thirty-one inches being reported was a new record for the city, but the experts were talking about the storm possibly breaking the drought, and that, at least, would be very good news.

And, thankfully, there hadn't been any major problems associated with the storm so far – well, besides Sea-Tac airport shutting down.  The request that people stay off the streets was, except for a few hardcore or desperate last-minute shoppers, being heeded.

          He wasn't sure he'd even venture out today to pick up that last gift for Blair.  He'd just wait for tomorrow and hope that the weather would keep the usual huge Christmas Eve crowds away from the malls.

          Sandburg was still sleeping; he could tell by the man's soft, steady breathing and slow heartbeat.  But that was a good thing.  At least when he was sleeping, he wasn't fretting about having to break the news to Ellison and Jim wasn't trying to come up with something they could do so Blair wouldn't be thinking about his dreams.

          And it also gave Jim some time to think.  He needed to go back to that reaction that he'd been avoiding for too long: Curiosity.

Knowing that Blair loved him, wanted him, made him a little curious, but about _what_ , exactly?

          That question made him nervous, and he walked over to the kitchen, fixing some decaf coffee – the last thing he needed right now was a caffeine buzz to get in the way.  While that was brewing, he checked the refrigerator to see what he could fix for breakfast.  He decided on hotcakes.

          As he mixed the batter he let his thoughts worry on his reaction, finally reaching the point where he could admit, reluctantly, to himself that he _was_ curious about what it might be like to make love to Sandburg.  How could be not after reading the dream?  And listening to him beat off in the shower… and the catch of his breath… the odor of his desire.

          Following closely on the heels of that was the realization that he _did_ find the younger man attractive.  Or at least as attractive as he'd ever thought of any man.

          Both were completely new ideas and feelings and he wasn't at all sure he was comfortable with either one of them.

          _Okay_ , he thought as rationally as he could, plugging in the griddle to heat, _I think Sandburg's attractive… for a man.  And I wonder what it would be like to make love with him…  Okay.  Fine.  Nothing wrong with either of those feelings.  Nothing at all.  But what does it mean?  How is that going to help this situation?_

          Before he could begin to formulate any answers, he was interrupted.

"Hey, good morning," Blair greeted.

          The Sentinel glanced up, meeting his Guide's eyes.  "Good morning," he replied hoarsely, noting that the man looked, well, _cute_ with sleep-tousled hair and a half-awake expression.

Cute?  Oh man, what _was_ he thinking?  "Uh, sleep well?" Jim asked.

          Sandburg nodded.  "Yeah.  I might actually get caught up by the end of two weeks.  Still snowing?"

          "Yeah," Jim said, then relayed what he'd heard on the news while he dipped out the first of the hotcakes onto the hot griddle.

          "Hmm," Blair said, a silly grin forming on his face.  "Smells good.  I'm hungry."

          "Grab a plate, then.  You can have these," Jim offered, watching the man move across the kitchen.  Damn, he _was_ attractive.  _Christ, am I looking at Sandburg?_

_I am!_

_Oh, for God's sake._

          "Thanks, man, I really am hungry."

 _For what, exactly?_ Jim silently asked his Guide as Blair took down two plates, handing them both to Ellison.  He flipped the first round of cakes into the top one, then handed it back to Blair.

Sandburg added a little butter and syrup, then carried his plate over to the table and sat down to eat.

          Jim added more hotcakes to the griddle to cook, then poured them both some coffee.  After he fixed his own, he flipped the cakes, then carried Blair's steaming coffee mug over and set it down next to the man's plate.

          "Hmm, thanks," Sandburg said, around a mouthful.  "These are great."

          "Thanks," Jim said with an amused smile and a shake of his head, then returned to collect his own breakfast.

          After breakfast they washed the dishes together, then watched the weather channel for a little while.  The low was arriving in the city, the snow beginning to pick up again.

          "I was hoping to get out today," Blair said with a sigh, "maybe do some more shopping.  I still haven't found the perfect thing for Naomi – not that I'll get it to her for Christmas, but I want to have it ready to mail when she gets back from Napal.  But I really don't want to go out in this."

          "Smart.  They're only plowing the major streets, so getting to the mall would be suicide in that old heap of yours."

          "It's not a 'heap'," Blair defended.  "It's a _classic_."

          "Says you," Jim teased.  He'd never noticed the way Sandburg's eyes danced when they were engaged in their usual banter, or the way his grin got a little lopsided when he was enjoying the exchanges…

          "Hey, you want to play some Sequence?" Sandburg asked.

          Had Sandburg just said something?  "Uh, sure," Jim replied, hoping he wasn't agreeing to something he'd regret.

"Great," the younger man said, heading off to get the game.

They sat down to play at the table.  Jim marveled at the fact that he wasn't going stir-crazy, not even close.  He really did enjoy spending time with Sandburg.  It felt… comfortable, natural.  It felt like being "home", just like Blair had written in his journal.  No way he could have done this with Carolyn, he'd have been climbing the walls.

          That realization was something of a shock.  If he hadn't gotten there on his own, he never would have believed he'd be more comfortable with Sandburg than anyone else.  He doubted he could even spend this much unbroken time with Simon, and Banks was his best friend.  Well, after Blair Sandburg.

          _Christ_ , Jim thought, _it is like we're married, but are we ever going to consummate the wedding?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After four games – each man winning two – they stopped for a lunch of thick bean and vegetable soup and slices of warm, fresh bread that Blair fetched from the bakery across the street.  Then they settled in the living room to read for a while.

"Uh, guess I better go check the cats," Blair said around four, sitting his book aside.

"When's Kathy due back?"

Sandburg thought a moment, then said, "The twenty-sixth or the twenty-seventh, I don't remember which.  But if we go up skiing, Linda Matthews said she can take care of them."

Jim nodded and Blair headed up to Kathy's again, taking care of the cats, and himself, before returning to do some work on his next dissertation chapter.  In the evening they finally turned the TV on again, watching the local coverage of what was quickly becoming known as the "storm of the century" among the newscasters.

          Jim sighed.

          "Something wrong?" Blair asked him.

"I wanted to go get you another present, but it looks like I won't be able to get to the mall tomorrow either.  If this keeps up, Simon's going to call me back in."

Blair groaned.  "Man, that would so suck.  But, hey, you don't have to get me anything else.  You already went above and beyond."

"Hey, that's _my_ call," Jim said sternly, but he grinned.  "But we could end up with a natural disaster on our hands, Chief.  Especially if we get rain on top of this.  We'll have major flooding for sure."

"Yeah, I know," Sandburg replied.  "Let's just hope this is the end of it, and that we don't get a fast warm up.  I really want to get up to the mountains.  I want two weeks off!  We deserve a vacation."

Jim grinned at him again.  "I agree with the two weeks off, but you do know that it's cold up here in the mountains, right?"

Sandburg flashed him a scowl.  "Duh.  And I'll have you know I have everything I need to stay warm on the slopes."

"I'll just bet you do," Jim replied, his tone sounding much more sexy than he'd planned.  _Where had that come from?_ he wondered, blushing.

Sandburg's eyes rounded slightly, his cheeks going rosy, and he quickly dipped his head.  Jim turned up his olfactory register, and sure enough, there was the faint aroma of the man's arousal again.

 _Okay, why does that give me such a satisfied feeling?_ Jim wondered.  _Ellison, you're definitely acting strange.  Definitely taking advantage of him_.

They lapsed into a strained silence, watching some more of the holiday specials offered by the networks.  About midway through _It's a Wonderful Life_ , Jim wandered into the kitchen and made microwave popcorn for the two of them.  He carried it and two beers back out to the living room, setting it all on the coffee table, then arched his back and stretched before he sat back down.  He heard Sandburg's breath catch and almost grinned, but he stopped himself.

 _He's got it bad_ , Jim thought silently.  _And damn if that doesn't make me feel good_.

 _And you're flirting with him_ , some part of his mind scolded.  _That's not fair.  You're gonna make it hard–_

Jim almost snickered.  _Isn't that the idea?_

_And what are you going to do with it then?_

_Whoa!_ he thought, _what am I doing here?  I've got to be crazy.  Talk about playing with fire._

He sat down and leaned over to scoop up some of the popcorn, then grabbed one of the beers.

          "Thanks," Blair said, determinedly trying _not_ to look at Ellison as he helped himself as well.

          Jim suppressed another grin and forced his attention back to the television.  But he continued to watch Sandburg from the corner of his eye.

The way the light caught in the man's hair was fascinating, and for the first time Jim wondered what those long locks would feel like in his hands.

 _Oh good grief_ , he sighed heavily to himself.  _This is getting out of hand_.

 _No_ , another voice in his mind replied, _you want it in your hands_.  _You want to know what those long locks would feel like, cascading around your groin while he–_

 _Okay, that's more than enough!_ Jim barked at himself.  _Much more than enough.  _ Curious was one thing, but this was something else entirely.  He was starting to sound like Sandburg!

He forced his attention back to the television, and after the news, which was starting to sound more positive about the storm finally coming to an end, they both headed off to bed.

Following his established pattern, Jim returned downstairs to turn off the tree lights, but Sandburg had beat him to it, and his bedroom light was already out as well.

 _No journal entry tonight_ , Jim thought.  What did that mean?  Was the approach of Christmas making Sandburg anxious?  Depressed?  Had he pushed too far tonight with the teasing?

 _Damn_ , he thought.  _There has to be a way to deal with this_.

With a soft sigh, he turned and headed off to bed, feeling lonely there for the first time in many, many years.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Holy shit–"  Jim sat up in his bed, gulping in several deep breaths.  He glanced around, noting several things – it was still dark, there was no one in bed with him, and it was only a little after two in the morning.

          He focused on Blair, immediately picking up his Guide's heartbeat.  He was still sleeping.

He sniffed.  Arousal… but it wasn't Sandburg's this time.

          Jim's hand immediately went to his erection.  "Oh, boy," he breathed, giving himself a squeeze as he lay back down and closed his eyes.  The images from the dream that had woken him immediately returned to tease him.

Stroking himself, he let the dream visions invade his consciousness.  It was a reversal of Sandburg's: Jim coming home, catching the soft sound of Blair's voice as he gasped softly, the odor of arousal drawing him across the room to the sofa, looking down and finding Sandburg naked and jacking off…

          Although he didn't feel like he was unable to move, in the dream he still stayed right where he was, watching the younger man work himself as he whispered, lost in his own fantasy world, "Yes, Jim, that feels so good… so good… yes… oh, Jim!"

          And then he was watching Sandburg come, but he wasn't standing at the back of the couch any more.  He was kneeling alongside the sofa, and it was _his_ hand working his Guide.

          He squeezed himself again, knowing as he did that if he didn't stop – right now – he'd have to change the sheets himself.  With a frustrated sigh he let go of his cock and took a deep breath, willing himself to relax.  It took a few minutes, but the erection finally subsided.

          He lay, thinking about the dream.  He wasn't repelled by the images, wasn't disgusted either… that curiosity rising to the fore again.

          Tuning in to his Guide's heartbeat, Jim let the steady rhythm lull him toward sleep, wondering as he did what it might be like if Sandburg were lying next to him.

          What it might be like to be able to reach out and touch his Guide… be touched by him…

          The dream returned, carrying him away.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**December 24 th**

 

          When Jim woke next, on the morning of Christmas Eve, just after eight, he knew exactly what that last gift he was going to give Sandburg would be.

He rolled out of bed, dressed in warm but baggy sweats, then changed the sheets and re-made the bed.  That done, he started downstairs to make some coffee.  He paused before he reached the bottom, surprised to find Sandburg already up, curled up at one end of the sofa, watching an animated version of _A Christmas Carol_ on television for the second time.  His journal was sitting on the coffee table again.

 _He must've written another entry this morning_ , he thought, wishing he could go read it to find out where things stood, but that wasn't likely.

          "Hey, Jim, look outside, man, the sun's trying to come out!" Sandburg said when he spotted the detective on the stairs.

          Jim descended and crossed to the French doors to check.  The sun _was_ trying to burn through a thin cloud cover, and only a few flakes were still falling.  However, as far as he could see, the city was covered in a meter-thick blanket of white.

"About time," he grumbled.

          "Yeah, and they're calling for a slow warm up.  No rain.  The chance of flooding is low," Sandburg added.  "Looks like the mountains are still calling to us after all."

          "I guess so," Jim said, honestly pleased that they would be spending some time together up on the slopes.  "Glad to hear about the floods."

          "Me, too.  And we'll have a white Christmas," Blair added, his voice a little excited.  "It's the first time I really remember one.  Naomi had a tendency to head for the warm climes for the winter months."

          Jim thought for a moment.  "You know, I can't remember one here either.  Before and after, yeah, but not snow falling or on the ground for Christmas Day."

          Blair nodded.  "The weatherman said the last time Cascade had falling snow on Christmas was back in 1938, and the last time we had snow on the ground like this was in 1947.  But the city's had rain on Christmas fourteen of the last twenty years.  Oh, and speaking of Christmas, do you realize this is the first one we're celebrating like normal people?  Well, it's just the third we've shared, but still.  So, I've gotta ask, do you wait to open all your presents on Christmas morning?  Growing up, Naomi and I used to open one each on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning."

 _This really is our third Christmas_ , Jim reminded himself.  The first he'd been working on a case and didn't think about the holiday, and the second Blair had been in the hospital.  So this was their first "normal" holiday.

          _And why does that make me warm all over?_ Jim wondered.

          "Uh, Naomi probably did that just to rein in that annoying curiosity of yours," Jim teased aloud, turning away from the window to look at the younger man.

          Blair grinned and shrugged.  "Hey, whatever works, man."

          _And what's going to work for you now?_ he wondered, but said aloud,  "I guess one tonight is okay, but just one."  He headed to the kitchen, asking, "You want some coffee?"

          "Sure," Blair replied, grinning.  "Hey, Jim, I was thinking, how 'bout I run over to the bakery and pick up some bearclaws for breakfast?  Maybe some of Mrs. Dinallo's Christmas cookies for later, too."

          "Bearclaws?  Cookies?" Jim echoed.  He stopped and turned to stare at his Guide.  "Sandburg, you hate pastry."

          "I don't _hate_ pastry, I just know what it'd do to my body if I ate it all the time like you do, so I don't.  But this is Christmas Eve, man.  Won't hurt to indulge once in a while, right?  So, what do you say?"

          "I say you're an alien imposter, and I want to know where the real Blair Sandburg is."

The younger man chuckled and shook his head.  "Come on, man, I'm not _that_ bad."

Jim grinned.  "Hmm, sounds like the shoe's on the other foot for a change."

Sandburg shrugged and grinned back.  "Okay, I guess it is.  You're anal-retentive about house rules and I'm anal about what goes into my body.  There's balance there, I guess."

"Yeah?  I suppose next you're going to tell me about the Force, right?" Jim teased, but his mind was experimenting with images of what might end up in Sandburg's body, anal and otherwise.  He shivered and shook his head to stop the mental motion picture.  "Uh, that, uh, does sound good, Chief," he managed.  "But I want a couple of those cinnamon buns – the big ones, with the extra frosting."

 _Do not go there!_ he snapped at his subconscious when new images started forming.

          Blair rolled his eyes, but said, "All right, all right.  They're your arteries, man.  Be back in a couple of minutes."  He climbed off the couch and headed for his room to pull on snow boots and his heavy jacket before heading across the street to pick up the treats.  He returned quickly – too quickly for Jim to risk checking the journal – making sure to stomp the snow off in the hall before he entered the loft this time.

          Jim had coffee made, and they ate the pastries sitting in front of the television, watching one of the endless holiday bowl games.  They ended up rooting for the opposite teams.  Jim's pick ended up triumphant and he teased Sandburg mercilessly for as long as he could, his Guide taking the ribbing in the spirit in which it was intended – to annoy him.

          While Blair read or worked on his dissertation, the rest of the day crept past slowly for Jim, his time spent in an almost continual silent dialogue with himself about his choice for a final gift – Was it the right thing to give Sandburg?  Would he like it?  What would his reaction be?  Would it help the current situation?  Did Jim really want to give it to him?

          _And how the hell do I want this all to work out?_ he pondered.

          His head said: Keep things like they are.  They're working.  That's safe.  Change things and it'll all go to hell in a hand-basket.

But his heart said: I care about Blair.  I want him to be happy, completely happy, not just making do, crying himself to sleep at night and jacking off with the white noise generator on.

Remember what you thought when you were reading his journal?  You said: _whoever it was, he damned well better not hurt Sandburg when he finally gets around to telling him about his attraction_.  _Blair deserves some happiness, and whoever it is, he's just damned lucky to have won the kid's affection_.  Well, that somebody is _you_.  Get used to it!  Enjoy!

And, worst of all, his cock agreed with his heart: It might feel good, loving him.  You'll never know until you try.  He is attractive… the way his ass moves–

          _Enough!_ Jim snapped at himself.

          Bottom line: There wasn't any way to predict the answers to any of the questions he'd come up with.  Not until he gave Sandburg the gift, and then it would be way too late to turn back.

But _how_ did he give it to him, even if he decided he wanted to?

Then he knew.

He glanced at the clock.  It was almost five.  He knew there was something slightly off on the schedule.  "Hey, don't you have a couple of hungry cats to feed?"

          Blair glanced over at the clock, his eyes rounding with surprise.  "Oh, damn," he breathed.  "Kathy made me _promise_ to feed them at the same time every day – otherwise they get finicky and won't eat, and Babaloo has to take medication in his food.  Damn.  I'm an hour late."

          Jim grinned.  "Give 'em a couple of anchovies, they'll eat.  And they won't hold the hour against you."

          Blair stared at him for a few seconds, then asked, "And you know this because you've, what, tried it on your, uh, spirit guide?"

          Ellison shrugged, humor dancing merrily in his eyes.  "Might work for him, if it was a something a little… bigger… more filling."

          Sandburg started to reply, but snapped his mouth shut.

          Jim watched the interesting reaction, realizing that they weren't talking about fish and feeding cats anymore, but he wasn't at all sure how it had become something else so quickly.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He really _was_ getting to be as bad as Sandburg.

          Blair finally swallowed, then chuckled softly.  "I, uh, guess I better get up there."

          "Yeah," Jim agreed, then added, "Hey, when you're done, what do you say we walk down to D'Aquino's for supper?  I saw a sign last week that said they'd be open until seven tonight."

          Blair nodded.  "Sure."

          "You don't mind Italian, right?  On Christmas Eve, I mean."

          "No.  No, Italian's fine."  He climbed off the couch and disappeared into his room to pull his shoes on.  With one backward glance he exited the loft, pulling the door shut behind him.  His expression was a mix of confusion and sadness, not at all what Jim had expected.

          He waited, listening as Blair started down the stairs, then headed into Sandburg's room, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.  What he was doing was wrong, but he just had to know.

          He found the journal sitting on the man's desk, right where he'd put it as soon as Jim had gotten up.  He opened it, finding the new entry he knew would be there.

 

          December 23rd.  Man, if I didn't know better, I'd swear that Jim was flirting with me today.  I mean really flirting, like "Here, Blair, check this out.  I know you want it."

I only wish!  But that's not possible.

So, that means that I must be starting to read things into Jim's actions and expressions that aren't really there, and that scares the hell out of me.

          How can I guide him when I'm reading things into his actions?  How can I know that what I'm seeing is real, or accurate?  How the hell do I help him if I can't even trust what I'm seeing is real?

          No, scared doesn't even begin to describe how I feel right now.  Terrified is more like it.  I'm destroying my relationship with Jim with this damned obsession, and I can't seem to stop it no matter how hard I try.  It's not fair.

He's being so damned nice, too.  Really nice, like Mr. Perfect, and I love it, but I can't protect him when I'm like this.  I can't help him.

And there is no way I'm going to let this get to the point where he gets hurt because I'm so fucked up I don't know what's really going on.

          I couldn't live with myself if Jim got hurt or killed just because I couldn't keep my damned dick in my pants.  No way.

          I'm going to have to tell him the truth.  Soon.  Maybe on Christmas day.

No, I just can't do it tomorrow.  This has been like some kind of a dream.  Like some spirit is making my dreams come true.  I want this to last.  Damn, I'm selfish, aren't I.  But I just can't tell him, not until after Christmas.  Then I'll face the music, whatever it is.

And if telling him doesn't fix the problem, I'm going to have to find him another Guide.  I won't be the one who gets him hurt or killed because I can't get my shit together.  I just won't.  He means too much to me to take that kind of a risk.  I love him.

Man, that's so ironic.  Because I love him, I'm going to lose him.  But if I didn't love him, I could keep him.  Well, nobody said life was fair, or logical.  But it sure as hell is painful sometimes.

 

          Jim closed the journal, his hand trembling slightly.  He took a deep breath, realizing that he was panting slightly.  He was scared.  "Terrified," as Sandburg had put it.

Blair was right, he did have to be able to trust his readings about Jim and his state of mind, his actions.  That's what made their partnership work. Sandburg's skill was the reason he knew Jim so damned well.

Blair was also right about the night before: Jim _had_ been flirting.  And he'd been enjoying it too.

 _How cruel was that?_ he asked himself.  _You know the man wants you, and what do you do?  You offer yourself to him, and then do the equivalent of saying, 'No, just kidding.'  That's mean, Ellison_.

_When did my feelings for Sandburg get so damned complicated?_

_When you read his journal, dickhead_ , was the immediate reply.  _He just told you what you already knew.  What you already feel yourself, if you weren't too damned stupid to listen_.

But the bottom line was simple: There was no way he could risk his Guide mistrusting his perceptions, not when they were actually correct and he was just thinking that they were wrong.

Jim sighed heavily.  He knew what he had to do, and he didn’t have much time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim listened as Blair entered the loft and paused, looking around for the Sentinel, but Ellison was nowhere in sight.

Sandburg's heart started to beat a little faster and Jim listened as he quickly checked the kitchen and bathroom.  As he did, the Sentinel worked himself a little harder.  Then, as soon as Blair started for his room, the detective moaned softly.

Sandburg froze, his heart rate jumping dramatically.  Jim also caught the first faint whiff of the man's immediate and demanding arousal.

Swallowing hard, Blair took another step closer to the living room and Jim moaned softly again, luring him closer.

          "Oh, man," Sandburg gasped quietly.  "I'm dreaming.  I've gotta be dreaming."

          _Come on, Blair_ , Jim silently urged his Guide.  _Come on, babe_.

          With hesitant, almost faltering steps, Sandburg moved closer and closer to the sofa, his breaths getting shorter and shorter.

Jim continued to work himself, his attention carefully split between his Guide and his own building pleasure.  Then he heard the choked whimper when Blair finally reached the back of the couch, knowing exactly what he was seeing: his Sentinel lying on the sofa, completely naked, his eyes closed as he slowly pulled on his cock.

Jim felt the impact of Sandburg's gaze as it locked on his hand as he continued to move his fist up and down over his thick, long shaft, rubbing over the veins that stood out along the surface.  Precome leaked from his crown, slicking his skin more.  Blair's heart raced, and he sucked in shallow, panting breaths.

The aroma of his arousal was almost enough to make Jim zone-out, but he forced his attention back to his Guide, whispering softly, "Blair…"

Sandburg's breath caught and he moaned softly before he could breathe again.  But he was moving, coming around the sofa to stand next to the Sentinel, still staring down at him.

Jim heard Sandburg tremble.  He pulled harder, faster, moaning Blair's name again, wishing his Guide was touching him, loving him.  And then he was shooting, jizm flying onto his chest in long, stringy strands.

"Blair," he gasped, his hips are bucking, his hand jerking like mad as he emptied himself.

While he was still shooting, Jim opened his eyes, his gaze locking on Sandburg's.  His Guide's breath caught for a second time, his eyes rounding in panic, but he didn't move, couldn't.  He just stood there, shaking all over.

Jim smiled up at him, then let go of his cock and reached out to cup the huge bulge in Sandburg's pants.

As soon as Jim touched him, Blair squealed and came, his knees shaking so hard he almost fell, but he somehow managed a more controlled

collapse to the floor where he immediately grabbed himself through his sweats, extending the orgasm, his body jerking, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

          Jim grinned, smiled, chuckled, then started laughing.  "Damn, Chief, you weren't supposed to come _that_ fast!"

          Blair moaned as he curled into a fetal position and Jim could hear the blood as it rushed to the man's skin in a full body blush.  He was embarrassed!  Jim laughed again, making Sandburg moan louder.

          "You bastard," Blair hissed, rocking slightly.  "You goddamn bastard.  You read my journal… _bastard_."

          That ended Jim's laughter.  He sat up on the sofa.  When Blair made no effort to sit up, he moved to the man's side, reaching out to gently clasp his shoulder when he heard the first soft sob escape his Guide's throat.

          "Go away."

          "No," Jim said.  "Blair–"

          Sandburg shifted, sitting up in a fury of motion.  He glared at Ellison.  "You–! How–?   _Damn_ you, Ellison!"

          Jim's hands came up in a gesture of surrender.  "Easy," he said.  "Blair, listen–"

          "Those are my _private_ thoughts, man.  _Private!_ "

          "I know.  I know," Jim said, trying to sound as conciliatory as he could.  "I'm sorry.  I–"

          "Why?" Blair demanded.

          Jim glanced down at his chest, covered with come, and at his nakedness.  "Uh, look, I'll explain anything you want me to, but let me get a shower and get dressed, okay?"

          Blair still shook with contained fury, but he nodded.  He needed the time to cool down as well.

          Jim stood and fled as quickly as he could, but he stopped at the foot of the stairs and met the man's angry gaze.  "Promise me you'll be here when I get out of the shower," he said, his tone serious and pleading.

          Blair hesitated, but he nodded again.

          Jim turned and hurried up the stairs to grab some clean clothes, giving Blair time to borrow the bathroom long enough to clean himself up as well.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Less than a half-hour later both men sat in the living room, clean and dressed in fresh clothing.

          "Jim, that was so un-cool, man," Blair said, his voice shaking.

          Ellison nodded.  "Yeah, I guess it was.  I just wasn't sure what else I could do."

          Some of the anger left Sandburg's eyes, but he was still mad.  "Then why?" he demanded.

          Jim drew in a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out in a long sigh.  "Okay, this is kind of complicated."

          "You could say that."

          Jim flashed his Guide a sad smile.  He hated talking like this, but he had no choice, not this time.  If he wasn't completely honest he could lose Sandburg, and he'd be damned if he'd let that happen because of his pride.  "A couple of days ago, when you were at Rainier, I was sitting here, trying to figure out what I was going to get you for your last Christmas present.  I knew something was up with you, something wrong, but I didn't know what it was.  I wanted to get you something that would tell you how much you mean to me…"

          Blair blushed and dipped his head.  "I know."

          "No," Jim countered, "you don't.  Because I never tell you, but you know how I am."  He paused, searching for the words he needed.  "You know this kind of talk gives me the willies."

          "Yeah," Blair said softly, sadly, "I know that, too."

          "But just because I have a hard time talking about how I feel doesn't mean I _don't_ feel."  He waited, making sure Sandburg accepted that as true.  He did.  "Anyway, I was trying to come up with a more… personal gift, I guess you'd say, and I saw your journal sitting on the coffee table…"

          "Are you saying this is my fault?" Blair snapped, his eyes narrowing.

          "No," Jim said quickly, his hands coming up again to placate his Guide.  "Hell, Chief, I didn't even know what it was when I picked it up, just that you use one of them a lot.  I was thinking I might get you one, maybe have your name put on it, make it special.  I opened it up to see what it was exactly, and I guess I was just reading before I really thought about what I was doing.  What you said confused me.  I wanted to know what was wrong, so I started at the beginning and–"

          "You read the _whole_ thing?" Blair demanded.

          "No.  No, I, uh, skimmed a lot of it, but I– I read about the dream.  And I'll be honest.  I wanted to know who this guy was who had you so worked up."

          "You–?  You mean–?"

          "Blair, I'm not a homophobe.  What did I ever do to make you think I was?"

          Sandburg dipped his head again.  "Sorry," he said quietly.  "That was unfair.  You haven't said or done anything.  I just assumed–"

          "Well, don't.  I don't care who people fall in love with, or who they sleep with – as long as it isn't children.  When I read it was me…  Okay, I'll admit, it threw me for a loop, but I wasn't mad or disgusted.  I just wanted to find a way to let you know it was okay, but I didn't know how.  And then I was thinking about it, and thinking about it, and thinking about it…"  He trailed off, shaking his head, then took another deep breath and forced himself to keep going.  "When I got up this morning, I knew you'd added something to the journal, and I wanted to know what it was, so, when you went up to feed the cats I, uh, went in and, uh, read the entry for the twenty-third."

          Blair scowled at him, but he didn't say anything.  He knew this wasn't easy for Jim, so he was willing to listen.  He'd ball him out later; no doubt about that in Jim's mind.

          "Look, what you wrote scared me, okay?  And you were right."

          "Right?"

          Jim huffed softly, finding it harder and harder to go on.  _Tell him!_   "I _was_ flirting with you," he admitted.  "I couldn't help it.  I–  I just didn’t want you to think that you were misreading me, because you weren't."  He leaned forward, meeting Sandburg's eyes.  "Listen, this morning when I woke up, I decided that I was going to tell you that I'd read your journal, and that I was okay with your feelings.  That we could work through this.  But when I read that last entry…  I don't know, I guess I realized that I wanted to…"  He looked away, trailing off, not exactly sure what it was he wanted to do.

"Jim," Blair finally said, "do you love me?"

          Ellison looked up, meeting the man's eyes.  "Of course I do."

          Sandburg snorted softly.  "Yeah, I know, but do you _love_ me?  Do you have any of the feelings I talk about in my journal?"

          Jim paused.  That was the question, wasn't it…  Had he re-enacted the dream just to keep his Guide, or had he done it for another reason, or both?

"I'm not sure," he admitted.  "I think so."

          "This isn't a 'think so', maybe kind of a thing, Jim," Blair said, studying him intently.

          "I know," he replied, trying to be as honest as he possibly could, and willing Sandburg to know that.  "Look, I've been thinking about this a lot since I read your journal, but I'm not sure.  I'm attracted, okay?  I am.  I'm curious.  I care about you…  I… love you.  I can't imagine my life without you.  I just wanted you to know you weren't wrong."

          Blair nodded a sad smile on his face.  "I appreciate that, but you didn’t have to do… _that_.  You could've just told me, like you planned."

"I suppose so.  But it didn't seem like enough… still doesn't– Listen, when I was lying there, I was getting off thinking about _you_.  I've never done that before – thinking about a man, I mean, when I– Okay, you know, but it was good.  So I don't know exactly how I feel, but I want to find out.  But I can't do that without you, Chief."

          Blair nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.  It was more than he'd ever expected to hear from Jim, and the Sentinel knew it.

          "I do know this much," Jim said softly, "you mean more to me than anyone in my life – past or present – and I want to spend my life with you at my side.  I want you to be happy, really happy.  And I, uh, want to, uh, take you upstairs… and make love to you."

          Sandburg's head snapped up, the tears filling his eyes rolling over his cheeks.  "You don't have to do that, Jim."

          "I _want_ to," he repeated.  "I _need_ to.  I need to know, too.  Please?"

          The Sentinel stood and held out his hand.  Blair stared at it a moment, then took it and let Jim pull him to his feet.  He quickly wiped the tears off his cheeks with his free hand.

          "You sure?" Blair asked.

          "Come on," he replied, releasing his Guide's hand and leading the way.

          They climbed up to Jim's bedroom in silence, but the anticipation of what was to come had the Sentinel hard by the time he reached the top of the stairs.  He turned to Sandburg, who looked like he was ready to bolt, or maybe pass out.

          Jim stepped closer to Blair.  "Close your eyes," he said softly.

          The younger man looked up at Jim, uncertainty clear in his expression. 

          "Trust me, Blair," Jim pleaded softly.  "I won't hurt you."

          "Promises, promises," Sandburg muttered, but he closed his eyes.

          Jim carefully unbuttoned the man's flannel shirt, drawing it off and tossing it onto his dresser.  The tee-shirt followed and he paused, really looking at Sandburg like a lover for the first time.  He was in great shape, but not overly defined.  His chest was covered in a light dusting of brown hair, one nipple ring shining in the light of his lamp.

          He turned off the light and unbuttoned the man's loose jeans, pulling them down to pool at his ankles.  Blair stepped out of his slippers, then the jeans, but he never opened his eyes.  While he did, Jim pulled his own sweatshirt over his head, and climbed out of his sweatpants.

          Stepping up to his Guide, Jim closed his own eyes and let his fingers explore the man's soft skin, his long hair, his chest, the small circle of silver.

          Sandburg sucked in a sharp breath when Jim tugged gently on the ring.

          "Mmm," Ellison responded, his hands already moving again, his senses tuned to every contour of the man's body.

          Goosebumps rose on Blair's skin and he trembled.  The odor of his arousal told Jim that Sandburg wasn't going to be able to hold out for too long.

          Opening his eyes, Jim guided Blair to the bed, pushing down lightly on his shoulders to let him know he should sit.  He did.

          "Lie down," the Sentinel instructed in a whisper.

          Blair swallowed hard, but he climbed back onto the bed using his elbows and feet, then lay down.

          Jim's heightened gaze roamed over his Guide's body, noting the goose-bumps, the adrenaline-induced trembling, the rapid beat of his heart pulsing the vein in his neck, the nipples pinched hard with desire, and the throbbing cock still hidden under the man's white briefs.

He leaned over, hooking his fingers under the waistband and tugging.  Blair lifted his hips and Jim drew the underwear off, freeing the man's erection, which immediately stood straight up.

          His attention focused on Blair's cock, sight and smell enhancing each other, driving Jim to the edge of a zone-out.  He backed off his senses a little, then pulled his own briefs off and climbed onto the bed, grateful that Sandburg had kept his eyes closed.  He wasn't at all sure he could go through with this if Blair were watching him, and he really did want to love the man.

          On his hands and knees, Jim nuzzled his Guide's hair, working his way to the man's neck where he sniffed, enjoying the play of scents: shampoo, soap, sweat, sex.  He licked the man's skin, prompting a moan from Sandburg.

          "Mmm," Jim replied.  He tasted as good as he smelled.

          Closing his eyes, the Sentinel traced Sandburg's skin with his lips, working his way over his jaw, cheek, finding his lips.  They kissed lightly, each man exploring his own reaction to the intimate touch for a long moment.

Jim kissed Blair again, longer now, more demanding.  His Guide's lips parted with a soft defeated moan and Ellison flicked his tongue into the man's mouth, tasting him anew.  Sandburg's hands were on him, rubbing, squeezing, pulling, as he dove further into the man's mouth.  And then he was suddenly falling into desire, spiraling into a truth hiding deep inside of himself: he did love Blair, in all ways, and he wanted him, in every way.

"Jim…  Jim?"

Someone was calling his name.

"Jim?  Come on, man, it's okay…  Jim?  Focus, man."

The Sentinel blinked and opened his eyes.  Blair was staring at him, his expression worried.  "What happened?" Jim asked.

"I think you zoned-out on me," was the reply.

Jim met his Guide's eyes.  "I do love you," he heard himself saying, "and I'm going to make love to you to prove it."

"Jim–"

He recaptured the man's lips, his hand reaching down to close around Blair's shaft at the same time.  Sandburg's hips pushed up, forcing himself through the Sentinel's tight fist.

For a moment Jim wasn't sure what to do, but he'd jerked off plenty of times and his hand, now full of hard cock, knew what was needed.  Breaking the kiss, Jim moved down, capturing first one of Blair's nipples in his mouth, them the other, enjoying the tang of the silver ring.  He captured the ring with an eyetooth and tugged on it.

Sandburg arched his back and pistoned his hips harder.  "Oh, Jim," he gasped.  "Feels so good."

Reality melted away and Jim was lost in a sea of sensations, need and instinct.  The taste and feel of his Guide's body, the scent of his lust,  the sound of his moans and whispered words wrapped around him, merging, dragging him down, overriding all reason and thought.

He moved without thinking, stared down at the leaking head of his Guide's cock.  He tested the offering, the taste pure Blair, burning the last doubts, the last walls of convention away.  His mouth closed over the weeping head, sliding down the shaft to devour Sandburg.

Blair cried out, his hips bucking into Jim's mouth as he came, shooting down the man's throat.  And the Sentinel continued to suck him until he had nothing left to give.

But with the first taste of his Guide's seed, Jim felt the truth erupt in his heart, taking over, pushing out all hesitation.  He reached out, his hand closing on Sandburg's wrist, guiding him.  Then Blair's hand was closing on his cock, pulling, squeezing even as the man continued to come in Jim's mouth.

With Blair's last shot, Jim was coming into the man's fist, all his thoughts imploding with a flash of sense-destroying pleasure.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Reality returned slowly, beginning with a touch from Sandburg's hand, the sound of his voice, calling Jim back.  The Sentinel opened his eyes, staring up at the man he loved.  The tickle of fear Jim had smelled faded from the air and he licked his lips, tasting the lingering memory of his Guide.

"Wha–?" he stated to say, but his throat was dry.

"Easy," Blair cautioned.  "Don't try to talk yet."

Jim nodded, glancing around.  He was in his own room, lying in his own bed… naked.  Sandburg was naked, too.

 _What the hell?_ he thought, but he reached out, stealing the tear resting on Blair's cheek.  He stared at the single drop on his fingertip, then touched it to his tongue.  His memories, hidden in that salty drop, melted back into his consciousness.

Jim smiled up at his Guide.  "Wow."

Blair chuckled softly.  "Yeah.  Wow," he agreed.  "Are you okay?  You scared the shit out of me, man."

Ellison sat up, feeling slightly disconnected from his body.  "I think so," he said.  "What happened?"

Sandburg sat next to him.  "What do you remember?" he countered.

Jim blushed, his ears immediately burning.  "Everything, I think."

Blair grinned.  "You remember bringing me up here?"  Jim nodded.

"And undressing me, making love to me?"  Another nod.  "And–"

          "Yeah," Jim interrupted, memories of taking Blair into his mouth vividly clear, "I remember _that_ , too."

          "You reached out, took my hand…"

          "I wanted you to touch me."

          "I did.  Do you remember what happened next?"

          Jim thought a moment, his forehead pinching in confusion.  He could remember the incredible heat that had surrounded his cock when Sandburg's hand had closed on him… the feel of Blair's skin moving over his own… the overwhelming pleasure when he squeezed… then… nothing.

          "You– I–"  He shook his head.

          Blair grinned.  "I was touching you, and you started coming, and coming, and coming.  Man, I've _never_ seen anything like that.  It was amazing.  You just kept shooting, and–"

          "I get the picture, Chief," the Sentinel growled.

          Sandburg blushed, but he looked unrepentant.  "Even when you stopped shooting it was like you were still lost in the orgasm.  It took me almost ten minutes to talk you back.  That was one hell of a zone-out, man."

          Jim blushed again.  "Sorry."

          "No, man, it was… sweet."

          Ellison's eyes narrowed.  "Sweet?"

          "Well, yeah," Sandburg replied.  "You know, I've never had anyone go ga-ga over me like that before."

          _Ga-ga?_ Jim thought.  "Sandburg, you're good, but you're not _that_ good."

          "Jim!" Blair cried, trying his hardest to look hurt.  "That's low, man."

          "You know what I mean," the Sentinel returned.  "It just…  I don't know.  It was like… getting high."

          Blair's eyes widened.  "I made you high?"

          Jim huffed and scowled at his Guide.  "Something like that."

          "Cool," Sandburg replied, looking too damned smug for his own good.  Then his expression turned serious.  "But what about how you feel about all this?"

          Jim's own expression softened and he reached out to tuck some of the wayward strands of hair behind Blair's ear.  His fingers lingered in the tousled curls, enjoying the softness.  He met the younger man's gaze, then said, "I found out just how much I love you."  The hitch in Sandburg's breath told him his Guide understood.  "Merry Christmas, Blair."

          "Yeah," he managed, "it is."

          After a trip to the bathroom to appease Mother Nature, and a quickly shared shower, the two men returned to Jim's bed.  They climbed under the covers, Ellison pulling Blair close, cuddling him as the reality sank in.

          "Jim, are you sure?"

His answer was a tender kiss on the back of his bare shoulder, and a whispered, "More than sure.  I'm yours.  If you really want me – you know what a pain I can be – but this is one present you can't exchange after tonight."

          "No way I'm taking this back," Blair said determinedly.  "It's exactly what I wanted."

          "Good.  Now, go to sleep, or Santa won't stop by and leave you any presents."

          "I got the only present I need."

          "Sleep, Sandburg.  Now."

          Blair grinned, snuggling closer and closing his eyes.  He fell asleep, still in Jim's arms, and the Sentinel had a good idea that it wouldn't be sugar plums dancing in his Guide's dreams the rest of the night.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**December 25 th**

 

          Jim woke to the warmth of his Guide beside him.  He smiled to himself.  All was right with the world.  He leaned closer and kissed the man's shoulder.

          Blair stirred, his eyes blinking open.  Then he grinned.  "Merry Christmas."

          "Yes, it is."

          "And we're going to go open presents, right?"

          Jim shook his head, reminding himself again that Sandburg wasn't six years old.  "Yeah, we are."

          They climbed out of the bed, Jim dressing, Blair escaping down the stairs to his room to do the same.  Done first, Ellison put water on to heat, then walked into the living room.  He glanced down at the sofa, and shook his head.  Who would have thought…

          A few minutes later they sat with tea and their presents.  They opened the ones from Namoi (natural honey soap: Jim, an old Hopi fetish: Blair) and Simon (fake-fur-lined leather gloves, a pair for each of them) first, then the gifts they gotten from a "secret Santa" at work.  Blair had drawn Simon and picked up a couple of one-of-a-kind flies, and Jim had gotten Rafe, deciding on a pair of Jags tickets for the new season – mid-court.

          Blair opened his first.  It was from Joel.  "Oh, cool, I needed one of these," he said, pulling a new JanSport backpack out of the box.

          "That's Joel," Jim said, "practical as always."

          "Who's yours from?"

          Jim checked the card.  "Henri."  He opened the package pulling out a small velvet bag.  He tugged the drawstring open and dumped some of the contents onto his hand.  Coal.

          Blair erupted into raucous laughter.

          Jim frowned and dug into the bag, finding a piece of paper.  "Check the bottom of the box," he read aloud.  He checked, finding two Jags tickets – mid-court.

          "Hey," Blair said, "H can bring Rafe and you can take me, we could make a night out of it."

          Jim's eyebrows arched.  "I was thinking about taking Simon," he said.

          Blair's expression crumbled.

          "But we can all chip in to get you a ticket, too."

          "Thanks, Jim," Sandburg said, then handed Jim his gifts, all five of them.

          "Whoa, Chief, I think we should go back and forth."

          He shook his head.  "I did this as a theme thing.  You know, Jim's five senses for Christmas."

          Ellison grinned.  "You're kidding, right?"

          "No, for real, so I want you to open them all at once."

          "Okay," Jim agreed, "but then you have to open all of mine at the same time, too.  You go first."

          Sandburg and he dug into the gifts.

          "Oh, this is great!" Blair said, holding up the rich plum-colored sweater.

"Organic cotton and natural dye."

"Good thinking," Blair said.  "You won't react to it when I wear it."  He opened the second box, finding the gray, black and teal flannel.  "Sweet," he said.  "Thanks, Jim."

"Keep going."

The specialty teas were next.  "Oh, wow, these are great!  But they're expensive.  You shouldn't–"

"Hey, just say thank you."

"Thanks," Blair grinned, then opened the last box.  "Oh, Jim, these are amazing!  It looks like the work of–"

"It is," he interrupted.  "I ordered them off a website.  The money goes to help the tribe with reforestation."

"Thank you," Blair said, reaching out to give the Sentinel's arm an affectionate squeeze.  "And I already opened the best one of all."

Jim blushed.  "Hope you still feel that way in a month or two.  I told you, I'm not the easiest man to live with."

"You think I don't know that already?"  Blair grinned.  "Now, open yours."

A few minutes later Jim had his five presents lined up on the coffee-table.  Santana's new CD: sound.  A box of his favorite chocolates from a local candy shop: taste.  A bottle of aftershave, hand-made using local, organic ingredients: smell.  He opened the bottle and sniffed tentatively.  It was perfect, slightly woody with a touch of a fresh smell, like the air after a good, cleansing rain.  He smiled up at Blair.  "This is nice."

Sandburg smiled.  "It took Kathy seven tries to get that.  That's why I'm taking care of the cats."

"Well, I appreciate it."

He turned his attention back to the last two gifts.  The sweater was incredibly soft: touch.  But it was the last one that held his attention.  It  was a silver band that had been carefully engraved, his Sentinel sight able  to pick out the incredible detail of a panther that stretched around the entire surface – nose to tip of the tail.  He couldn't imagine what workmanship like that would have cost Sandburg.  He looked up, meeting the man's eyes.

"This is amazing.  It must have cost–"

"Hey, what did you tell me?"

Jim shook his head, but he was still determined to find out how Sandburg had afforded the gift.  Then he looked at the twin CD towers.  "You sold some of your CD collection for this, didn't you?"

Blair blushed.  "Yeah, I did, but it was stuff I wasn't listening to any more.  I needed it as a down payment–"

"Down payment?  Sandburg, this is–"

"Paid for, so just shut up and enjoy it.  Does it fit?  I had to guess on the size."

Jim slipped the ring onto his right ring finger.  It fit perfectly.

"Great," Blair sighed.  "I was a little worried about that."

"Thank you," Jim said.  "They're all great."

"Glad you like them" he replied.  "And I can say the same."

With more than a little self-consciousness they leaned in to give each other a kiss.  They pulled back, both blushing and chuckling at their embarrassment.

"Guess it'll take a little time to get used to, huh?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded.  "Yeah, I guess so.  But I, uh, I'd really like to go unwrap my first present again," he said.  "If you don't mind."

Jim grinned wickedly.  "I don't mind, Chief.  You can unwrap it as often as you like, it won't wear out."

          "Just don't want to, uh, run the batteries down, if you know what I mean."

          "Hey, the batteries are included, and they come fully charged."

          "Mmm," Blair said, standing and holding out his hand.  "Glad to hear it."

Jim took the proffered hand, letting his Guide lead the way upstairs.

Continued in Before the Night is Over


End file.
